


Smoke and Mirrors

by alleinimmer



Series: How Did We Get Here? [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Endgame never happened, Infinity War never happened, Nightmares, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Swearing, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-30
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-09-30 17:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20451188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alleinimmer/pseuds/alleinimmer
Summary: Peter wakes up from a nightmare during his first stay at the Avengers' Tower





	Smoke and Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> Short, sweet, and fluffy! Set after "Bits of Happiness" and before "Hit and Miss"

Black smoke. Everywhere. Thick, acrid, burning the back of his throat as it fills his mouth and nose. His lungs are screaming. His eyes are stinging so badly he can barely keep them open. Not that it matters - the smoke is so dense he can barely see his own hand in front of his face as he stumbles, the ground rolling beneath him, his body swaying like a boat on a storm-tossed sea. It’s just when he finally manages to get his legs under him, that there’s a sudden flash of sickening green light through the blackness. Peter squints, trying to figure out just what he’s seeing, when suddenly, with an ear piercing shriek, the twin green lights rush toward him, and a great force knocks him off his feet. 

He’s choking. His mouth is filled with sand. There’s blood gushing from his nose. There’s something wrong with his eyes - it’s like he can’t focus on the dizzying shapes that are swirling vaguely around him...when all at once the world seems to burst into high definition clarity, and Adrian Toomes emerges from the haze, grinning wickedly as his metal wings beat the smoke-filled air. Peter knows it’s Toomes, he knows it, but there’s something off about him. His teeth are warped and jagged. Bloodstained. His skin is ashy, bubbling and melting like hot wax. His eyes are emerald green and shining unnaturally bright. Christmas tree lights, he finds himself thinking deliriously. He tries to move away, but he can’t seem to make his limbs cooperate, and suddenly, Toomes has him by his throat, suffocating him. And he laughs when Peter claws helplessly at his fingers.

“Hello, Pedro.” He purrs. “Miss me?”

—————————————-

He wakes suddenly, with a strangled shout, limbs flailing under the blankets that are twisted around him like a straight jacket. It takes a minute, but eventually he manages to kick them away, flinging himself against the headboard, chest heaving. 

“NO!”

At the sound of his voice, the room is illuminated instantly, and he can’t help but flinch. Soft, golden light. Nothing like what Peter had been trapped in moments before. He doesn’t understand - where’s the smoke? Where’s Toomes? He looks around, trying to remember where he is, eyes darting back and forth over the familiar items scattered across the room. His sneakers are by the door. He vaguely remembers kicking them off there hours ago. His homework is scattered all over his desk and one of his textbooks still lies open at the exact page of Spanish conjugations he was reviewing. His suit still lies draped over the back of his chair. He waits. Looks around. Nothing changes. There’s no one here...no...no, that can’t be right. He knows that can’t be right-Toomes was just here!

...And then he realizes. Oh. He lets out a shaky breath. Oh. That’s right. He was spending the night at the Avengers Tower. He’s in his room at the Tower. And Toomes...Toomes is in prison. Where he had been for months now. It was a dream. Just a dream. Of course it was a dream. But still…

“Are you alright, Peter?” FRIDAY asks him. Her voice is gentle. Concerned. 

“FRIDAY?” It feels like he’s swallowed sandpaper. He needs to be sure. “Is there someone in my room?”

“No, Peter.” She answers immediately, and in any other situation he would marvel at how confused she sounds. “There is no one in the room with you.”

“...Are you sure?” 

“Yes, I am quite sure. Would you like me to call someone into your room for you?” 

“No! No, FRIDAY, that’s okay, I’m okay.” 

“You don’t seem okay, Peter. Your heart rate is elevated and your pupils are dilated, suggesting your sympathetic nervous system has entered the fight or flight response.” 

“I-what?” He’s still reeling from his nightmare. 

“You seem afraid.”

“I’m fine. Honest. Just a bad dream.” 

“Would you like me to walk you through some simple breathing exercises? Or play some classical music for you?” 

“N-no. No FRIDAY, I’m good, thanks. What um...what time is it?”

“2:57 AM.”

At her words, Peter heaves a sigh. Scrubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. There’s no way he’s going to be able to fall back asleep now. Not after a dream like that. So instead he merely sits there, too terrified to move and still half convinced that Toomes will come lunging out from under his bed at any moment, despite FRIDAY’s assurances. And when the pipes suddenly groan a few minutes later, he can’t help but jerk sharply.

"If I may, Peter, the noises you are hearing are merely shifts that are occurring in the building. It’s a perfectly normal phenomenon that occurs in all structures.” FRIDAY informs him gently. Peter can feel the blood rushing to his face. He hadn’t realized she had still been watching him. Expecting him to freak out. Knowing he would need her to calm him down. He had thought maybe she had...left? Turned her attention elsewhere? But he supposed it made more sense that she was everywhere all the time.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to call someone, Peter? It seems your nightmare had quite an effect on you.” 

“No!” Great. Now Mr. Stark’s AI thinks he’s a mess too. “No, I’m fine, I promise.” 

“Is there something you want to talk about, Peter? I understand this isn’t the first night this week you’ve had trouble sleeping.” 

For a moment, he can only sit there in shocked silence. “How do you know about that?” 

“Karen told me.”

Peter can’t help but roll his eyes. That little traitor. A while back, he and Ned had found a pretty intricate piece of coding on his suit labeled “Tattletale Protocol”, and from what they could tell, it was basically a means for the two AIs to trade information about him. As far as he knew, it was supposed to be used mostly for when his vitals sign spiked dangerously, or if the camera detected a gun or knife. But evidently it covered a lot more than that. If he ever figured out how to hack it, the first thing he was going to do was rename it “Snitches get Stitches”. Just out of spite. And THEN he would disable it.

“Right.” He answered dryly. “FRIDAY, you didn’t, you know...you didn’t tell Mr. Stark that did you?”

“I am not required to tell Boss everything that Karen shares with me. It is my job to sort and prioritize the information. Only things that are potentially life threatening are forwarded to Boss.”   
Peter honestly wasn’t sure how he felt about that. At least Mr. Stark wasn’t getting every minute detail of his day. Still, he wasn’t sure that he liked the idea of FRIDAY storing so much information about him.

“Yeah, thanks FRIDAY.” He swallows thickly. “Is anyone else awake?” 

“Boss is currently working in his private lab. Everyone else is asleep.” 

“Okay...would it be alright if I got some water?” 

“Of course, Peter.” She actually sounds fond. “I’d be more than happy to direct you to the kitchen.” 

“Okay. Um, is there a way you can turn on some of the lights without waking everyone up?” 

“Certainly.”

FRIDAY already has the hallway was bathed in a gentle glow when he finally works up the nerve to poke his head out his door. Peter makes his way cautiously forward, jumping again when a floorboard creaks sharply. He forces himself to keep moving, though a part of him remains entirely convinced that at any moment, some grotesque, twisted form will come rushing out of nowhere to grab him. He edges as far as he can from the shadows that linger in the corners, and prays to God that he can avoid running into any of the Avengers. 

By the time he reaches the kitchen, he’s deeply regretting leaving his room in the first place - he’s pretty sure he left the door open, which means he’s going to have to ask FRIDAY to check it again when he goes back. 

“There are glasses in the cabinet next to the fridge.” FRIDAY’s voice chimes softly. “If you open the left fridge door, there’s a built-in water filter that you can use. Or, if you prefer, there are bottled waters in the pantry.”

Peter opts to be as unobtrusive as possible and heads for the pantry. And in doing so, he has to put his back to the entire kitchen and the adjoining living space, and just that thought alone has him quivering. Quick, quick, quick, he urges himself before diving into the pantry, searching desperately for the package of water bottles. He overlooks it the first time in his panic, and when he finally realizes that it’s right in front of him, he grabs one and stumbles out as fast as he can, nearly colliding with the pantry door as he does. He can actually feel his heart pounding as he whirls around, certain there will be a ghoulish, grinning figure waiting for him. A pair of flashing green eyes...

But no, there’s no one. He struggles for a moment with the bottle cap, eyes continuing to rove around before he finally manages to get it off. Don’t close your eyes, he tells himself as he takes a sip. Don’t close your eyes, don’t look at the windows. Stay away from the vents and corners. Get back to the room as quick as you can. Don’t give anything a chance to get you from behind.

Part of him knows he’s being completely ridiculous and irrational. He’s fifteen! He’s Spider-Man! He shouldn’t be afraid of anything! And, yeah, okay, even if he did get scared of some stuff, Toomes wasn’t an actual monster. He was just a man. A man Peter had beaten once before. A man who was currently locked away in prison while Peter stood in the Avengers Tower kitchen, the safest building in the universe. Peter knows all this, he does, but despite his best efforts, all logical thought is currently being drowned out by pure, unadulterated panic as he begins to psych himself up for the return trip back to his room. It takes two minutes to walk from the common area to his room. He can do that. He can do two minutes. He just did it. And once he gets to his room he’s going to sit with all the lights on until he falls asleep again or until his alarm goes off. It’s hands down the best plan he’s ever come up with. He turns the corner…

...and runs straight into Mr. Stark. 

He scrambles back. He can’t hold back a high-pitched, humiliating squeal as he does. His only consolation is seeing just how surprised Mr. Stark looks too, his eyes almost comically wide as he jumps back.

“Mr. Stark!” He manages to gasp, smiling with relief, “Hey! Hey what’s up, man? God, you scared me!”

“It doesn’t show.” Tony assured him sarcastically, looking annoyed. “Jesus, Parker, it’s 3 in the morning. What are you doing?”

“Thirsty,” He says, holding up the water bottle to show Tony, which shakes slightly in his grasp. “FRIDAY told me I could. Why are you up?”

“Coffee.” Tony grunted, gently pushing him out of the way and beelining for the coffee maker. 

“I thought you had a coffee maker in your lab.” Peter says, watching him pull a can of grounds from a nearby cabinet.

“Who says I was in my lab?”

“FRIDAY.”

“Why were you asking FRIDAY if I was in my lab?”

“Just curious.” Peter tells him. “So do you have a coffee maker in your lab? How come I’ve never seen it? Or what about your penthouse? Don’t you have an espresso machine up there? Is it broken? Did Miss Potts take it away? Cause she’s trying to get you to drink less coffee? Is she gonna be mad? Is that why you’re coming all the way down here? Cause you don’t want her to know?”

“Jesus! What are you?! The neighborhood watch?! The ‘Daily Bugle’s’ newest recruit?! Why the hell am I being interrogated in my own house at three in the morning by Spider-Man’s alter ego, pint-sized Pete?” Tony snapped, practically slamming the lid of the coffee maker closed. With a hiss, it crackled to life, a cloud of steam bubbling from under the lid. “For your information, Short Round, I’m out of coffee and I knew Sam had a doomsday cache down here. And since I let him live here rent free, I figure the least he can do is owe me a cup of coffee.”

“Don’t you wanna go to bed soon? You have to be tired, it’s 3AM.”

“Yeah, you’re right, it’s 3AM - why are you even awake?!”

“I told you, I was thirsty!”

“Okay, let me rephrase that - way are you STILL awake?”

“Just...makin’ conversation.”

For a moment, Tony just stared at him, looking at him with a strange mix of exhaustion and frustration. “Kid. It’s too early for this shit. Go to bed. Now.”

“Aw, come on, Mr. Stark! It’s my first sleepover with the Avengers-” Mr. Stark’s eyelid twitched- “I’m supposed to eat junk food and watch movies and stay up all night!”

“You are supposed to be training with Captain Douchebag in a few hours.” Mr. Stark reminds him before turning back to the coffee maker. “Trust me, kid, you’re gonna wanna bring your A-game for that. Now come on. Go to bed.”

But Peter can’t bring himself to move. He doesn’t want to go back to his room. Doesn’t want to sit by himself. Doesn’t want to be by himself period. He takes a few shuffling steps back, staring down at his freezing toes, ashamed and afraid and wishing more than anything that Mr. Stark would invite him up to his lab. Offer to sit and talk with him about anything. Quantum physics. The health care crisis. The new bill the city’s trying to get passed - something about crosswalks? The Dow Jones, whatever that was. Anything. But he knows he can’t ask Mr. Stark for that. It’s late and he’s busy and has way more important things to worry about.

“Kid?”

Peter glances up. Mr. Stark is watching him, eyes darting all over him, steaming coffee mug in hand. He’s gone from sarcastic and borderline condescending to sounding confused. “You alright?”  
“Yeah, I’m alright,” Peter assures him quickly. Maybe too quickly. Mr. Stark quirks an eyebrow.

“You look a little spooked.” He points out. His tone is neutral. Like he’s talking about the weather. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Um, yeah,” Peter assures him, embarrassed. “I, uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m just tired.” 

“Uh huh.” Mr. Stark’s face immediately warps into complete indifference. Peter really hasn’t known him for long, but he gets the feeling that the vast majority of the time, how the man truly feels and how he presents himself are two very different things. Why that is, he’s not sure, but right now, he has no clue if Mr. Stark believes him and has lost interest in him, or he knows Peter is lying and just doesn’t care enough to call him out on it. 

Not too long ago, Peter would have done anything for the chance to impress Mr. Stark. Coffee runs at dawn? No problem. Cut class to help stop a terrorist attack downtown? Sure, he could do that. What? You’ve finally found the creep who’s been dealing organs on the black market? And to catch him, you need me to be bait? And there’s a chance I’m going to wake up in an ice bath with my kidney missing? Yeah, Mr. Stark, I’m totally down for that! 

Whatever Mr. Stark needed, he would have done it, just for the chance to be taken seriously. To be valued as someone who had something worthwhile to contribute. He still would, if he was being perfectly honest. It was just now, he wasn’t sure if he actually could. And sure he’s made progress - Mr. Stark told him he did a good job with the Vulture fiasco, and he’s pretty sure he meant it. And he had chosen Peter to fight the Rogues for a reason, right? And Mr. Stark even responds to some of his text messages now and then, when before he had to go through Happy (who for the most part, had completely ignored him). And yeah, Mr. Stark had offered him an official spot on the team (which he later officially rescinded until further notice) and was now officially “in training” as Mr. Stark called it (“Keeping it to the junior leagues, for now.” He had said with a shrug). That had to mean something, right? Had to count for something, at least?

He really doesn’t know. And he’s getting so tired. Tired of trying so hard and feeling like he’s getting nowhere. If not having any clue what he’s doing or what he’s doing wrong. Like the only thing he ever manages to accomplish is annoying the hell out of Mr. Stark. But the thing was, the thing that hurt the most, was knowing deep down that even if he had managed to impress Mr. Stark, even just a few times, the man had no real interest in him. In Peter, the kid behind the mask. The kid who’s terrified half the time and in way over his head than he’ll ever admit. The kid who bleeds beneath the suit and doubts himself and even sometimes hates himself. That ugly, flawed part of him, the part of him that he just can’t seem to shake...that’s something Mr. Stark wants no part of, he’s sure.

“Alright,” Mr. Stark says after a while, breaking the awkward silence that has settled over them. “I’m no expert on childcare, but I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be in bed. Seriously, kid, you’ve got a long day ahead of you and I promised your aunt you wouldn’t have too much fun. God only knows what she’ll do to me if she finds out otherwise.”

Peter manages to crack an embarrassed smile at that. He wishes he could say that May is all bark and no bite, but anyone who’s met the woman knows it’s a lie. Evidently talking his sheepish grin as acquiescence, Mr. Stark takes a step forward. Throws an arm around his shoulders. Leads him back to his room, going on and on the entire time about May and strong women and how hot they are. It’s a one-sided discussion Peter really didn’t ask for, and really wishes they weren’t having, but he’s glad at least he doesn’t have to walk back to his room alone. When Mr. Stark finally stops at his door, he quietly wishes him good night, and in response, Mr. Stark slaps him lightly on the shoulder. 

“Okay, kid. Have fun at superhero camp today. You’ll have to tell me how it goes.” He says. 

“You’re not gonna be there?” Peter regrets saying it as soon as it leaves his mouth. The last thing he needs is for Mr. Stark to think he’s some needy little kid.

“Fury says I can’t, bud. Sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry. He sounds annoyed. 

“Why can’t you?” Peter can’t help but ask, curious.

“No idea.” Mr. Stark tells him, and though he says it nonchalantly enough, it’s a little to quick, a little too forceful, and Peter’s not sure if he believes him. “Probably because of what I did at the last UN meeting.”

“What did you do at the last UN meeting?”

“Nothing he can prove.” Mr. Stark smirks. “Seriously, kid, knock ‘em dead. And hey, if you actually manage to knock Cap on his ass, I’ll even take you to Disneyland. Sound good?”

Peter nods. Wishes him another quiet good night, and disappears behind his door before he can embarrass himself any further for the night. Reluctantly, he drags himself across his room and climbs back into bed. 

“Would you like me to turn the lights off now, Peter?” FRIDAY asks him.

“No, please leave them on, FRI,” He says after a moment. 

He knows it’s pathetic, but he can’t help it. He pushes his blankets off the bed and hugs his knees, determined not to fall asleep. He wishes he was back home with May at their tiny apartment in Queens, with police sirens screaming all night and crazy neighbors stumbling drunk or shouting at one another in the hall at some ungodly hour. He doesn’t feel at home here. Here, he feels so incredibly out of place. Like he doesn’t belong. 

He wishes more than anything that he knew what he needed to do to impress Mr. Stark. The Avengers. Because he’s certain that if any of the team saw him right now, if they knew just how freaked out he really was, they’d revoke his “junior league” status card so fast it would make his head spin. He’s not sure how long he sits there, church nodding and jerking awake every so often at strange and unexpected bumps and groans. He can’t remember when it fades away. 

He wakes slowly, groggy and confused, barely conscious, but it doesn’t take him long to figure out what woke him - he’s cold. Instinctively, he curls in on himself, trying to preserve as much warmth as possible, but it’s not nearly enough to make a difference, and he shivers. He can't remember what he did with his blankets. The lights were still on in his room, but as far as he can tell, there’s no sunlight streaming through his window. He couldn’t have slept for long, right? He knows he should probably get up, or at the very least check what time it is, but he can’t bring himself to do either. He’s so tired and so cold and he just wants to drop back into oblivion. 

He’s not sure how much time passes, but eventually, he hears his door creak open. It’s soft and slow, like whoever’s on the other side is trying not to wake him up. Peter feels his heart jump up his throat again, but wills himself to stay still and quiet, forces his breathing to stay peaceful. Soft footsteps approach his bed and stop near him. He waits, listening for some clue as to who’s standing next to him. A deep, almost sad-sounding sigh breaks the silence. 

“He okay, FRIDAY?” Mr. Stark whispers. It takes everything he has not to react. What’s Mr. Stark doing in his room? Did FRIDAY rat him out? 

“He’s alright, boss,” FRIDAY assures him. Peter nearly jumps when he feels his blanket being draped over him, but somehow manages to stay still. 

“Has he been asleep for long?” Mr. Stark then asks. 

“About twenty minutes,” She tells him. Peter’s surprised - he had thought he managed to hold out much longer. He's even more surprised that FRIDAY doesn't tell Mr. Stark that he's awake right now, if his heart rate is anything to go by - he’s pretty sure she has sensors that can measure that.

“Hmm.” Mr. Stark hums in response, and though Peter wonders what he’s doing, he doesn’t dare open his eyes. A moment passes...two...before he speaks again. “Turn his alarm off, FRI. Let’s let him sleep in tomorrow. God knows he deserves it.” 

“Sounds good, Boss,” She answers. It’s quiet for just a moment, and then, Peter feels Mr. Stark’s hand brush against his hair.

“Sweet dreams, kid.” He hears him murmur before turning and making his way back to the door. “FRIDAY? Keep an eye on our boy, will you? Let me know if he needs anything. Anything at all, let me know.” 

“Sure thing.” The door closes softly, and soon his room falls silent again. 

For a minute, Peter just lies there, more confused than ever. He’s not sure what prompted Mr. Stark to come in just now. Did FRIDAY say something to tip him off? He wouldn’t be surprised if she did, considering how freaking loyal she is. But even if she did tell him that he woke up whimpering and begging for FRIDAY to turn on the lights, why would Mr. Stark care? Why come in and check on him?  
Peter’s not sure what just happened. He doesn’t know what it means, or if it even means anything at all. He doubts he’ll ever fully understand Mr. Stark, or know exactly what the man thinks of him. All he knows is that the warmth of the blanket is pulling him further under, and before he can think too much about what happened, he’s asleep again.

**Author's Note:**

> So the situation I've got going on...it's not getting better...in fact there seems to be no end in sight. Which makes it very difficult to write these. Which means it's going to be a while before I post anything. Thanks so much to everyone who thinks these stories are worth reading!


End file.
